


Space Hair

by RedBubbles



Series: Celestial Bodies [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Almost naked cuddling, But they're very very very brief, Cannabis, Drug Use, Everything is consensual, F/M, Fluff, Grinding, Hickeys, I mean you're both high so it's not really fetishy, Marijuana, Mentions of Murdoc Niccals, Mouthplay, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, consensual drug use, getting high together, mentions of abuse, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBubbles/pseuds/RedBubbles
Summary: You and 2D, finally, have the house all to yourselves, along with a fine selection of premium weed to roll into as many joints as you can smoke. While an insane home life and intense sex are all that can be expected from a relationship with the singer, you discover just how much you enjoy relaxing in an over heating, smoke filled room with him, flirting and joking around like two lovestruck (albeit stoned) teenagers





	Space Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a hell of a lot smuttier and also include shotgunning, but as I wrote it, it sort of dissolved into some sweet stoner fluff. I love 2D. Is that obvious?
> 
> [Check out my imagines blog on Tumblr (2d-imagines)](https://2d-imagines.tumblr.com)

You grind your hips down against 2D's crotch, taking a long, deep drag of the joint between your fingers. His hands rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking over your skin. His head is tilted back, gazing up at you, and there’s a happy, spaced out smile on his face. You sit facing him, in his lap, with your legs either side of his, kneeling down, the two of you grinding lazily against each other for no more gain than the dull sparks of arousal that perfectly compliment the swimming, floating feeling of being completely and utterly stoned. 

You’re both shirtless, you wearing only your bra and a pair of borrowed (and thankfully clean) boxer shorts and him with naught but a pair of ratty jeans slung low around his hips. A light sheen of sweat coats both of your skin from the insanely cranked up heat that radiates through the house. 

You blow the smoke out of your lips, and one of his hands leaves your hip to take the joint from you, taking his turn to inhale deeply. His eyes don’t leave yours, and you run your hands over his chest, feeling his ribcage expand as he inhales as deeply as he can. It’s a rare treat for the two of you to be alone together in the house, and even rarer for you to have enough weed to roll a decent amount of joints without the threat of Murdoc nicking them. 

He puffs his cheeks out, making you giggle, and then blows smoke rings into the air. You stretch up, letting them frame your face for a second, and then settle back down in his lap. As he hands the joint back, you rock your hips forward and a soft moan escapes his lips as you press your stomach against his. His hand grips your hip again, his hold a little tighter than before. His eyes rove over your face, and the two of you set into a rhythm, you rocking your hips against his, and him rolling his against yours in response, like a languid, sexual dance. 

The air is thick and heavy with smoke from the 2 joints the two of you have already smoked between you and the hot, heavy closeness of the air. You’re sure that if someone were to open the door right now, they wouldn’t be able to see you through the thick, smoggy haze.

And that’s just how you want it.

Flicking your hair from your face and holding the joint up and away from either of you to ensure it doesn’t burn anything, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. Another soft moan escapes against your lips, and you press your whole body into him, your free arm wrapping around his waist as he arches into your full-bodied touch. The kiss is open mouthed and lazy, the two of you gasping against each others lips, not caring as teeth clack against each other and snag on lips.

He breaks the kiss after a while, trailing tiny butterfly kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, and then down your neck. His lips are cooler than your burning skin, and you shiver as he presses a cool kiss against your jugular, and then bites the skin gently, putting just enough pressure behind the bite to leave faint red marks. If there was one thing you had learnt about 2D in the time you had been dating (or at least sleeping with) him, it’s that he loves giving and receiving hickeys. 

His teeth drag against your collarbone, and you moan softly in response. He bites down, a little harder than before but still gently, and then kisses the bite marks. They were always oddly shaped due to the fact he was missing his front two teeth, but you always found something oddly endearing (and sexy) about it, especially when you reviewed the marks in the mirror after a rough night. As his tongue smoothes over your fluttering pulse point, you’re distracted by a stray lock of hair, dark blue in the half light, shining, almost glowing, like deep water.

“I love your hair,” you murmur, and he raises his head from your now marked neck. You lean forward, resting your head on his chest, gazing up dreamily as you twist the blue strands around your fingers slowly. He takes the joint from you and takes another drag, and then exhales, turning his head and nuzzling the side of yours.  
“I like your hair,” he replies, “it’s soft,”

You twist one of the strands around your finger, and then let go of it, watching it fall softly down to its usual place against his shoulder.  
“It’s like the sky,” you tell him, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck, “a big blue sky. Or a night sky. An ocean,”

You feel him shiver a little at the mention of the ocean, and instead distract him by drawing meaningless shapes onto his bare chest. He takes another puff of the joint, and then holds it against your lips. You open your mouth obediently, letting him hold the joint as you inhale.

“Space hair,” you whisper, testing the words on your lips, and then let out a giggle that sounds more like a jerky hiccup. You sit up, sifting your hands through his hair, pulling it up and smoothing it down and letting your fingers trail through it.

“You could dye it purple and red and…purple,” you say, “and we could buy glitter and put it in your shampoo. Space hair,”

He beams up at you.

“Space hair. I could get a little rocket hair clip to pin it back,”

You gasp, and kiss him quickly.  
“Genius,” you whisper furtively, “rocket hair,”

He chuckles, and makes soft _whooshing_ noises, threading the joint through the air. You laugh, eyes following it with a spaced out gaze, almost going cross eyed as he places it between your lips. You smile, inhale and exhale deeply, and take a moment to gaze at him. There’s so much of him you long to touch, and your heart soars when you realise that you _can_ , because he’s _yours_ , to kiss and hold and touch, just as you’re his.

You slide your hands out of his hair and down his neck, and then back up, tracing his jawline, fingertips lingering on old scars and blemishes, from bar brawls, rough nights, and Murdoc’s rages. One hand slides up to cup his cheek, and the other lingers over his mouth, your thumb stroking over his lips. They curve upwards automatically, exposing the gap where the front two have been knocked out. Without thinking, you push your finger into his mouth, pressing the pad of your fingertip against his gums. He makes a soft noise of complaint, but you don’t let up, moving on to press you finger against the sharp edge of a chipped tooth.

“D’you ever, like…bite your tongue with this tooth?” you ask, tilting your head a little. He blinks, and his tongue pokes at the tooth in question. The corners of his mouth curve up a little more.

“Thometimeth,”

You grin and continue exploring, rubbing the shining surface of his gold tooth, and then tapping it. 2D let’s out a grunt of disapproval, and your fingers withdraw a little, but not completely.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, curious, pushing the side of his mouth to make him turn his head so you can get a better look at it.

“Not really,” he replies, obediently speaking around your fingers, “it’th jutht uncomf’table,”

You scrutinise the golden tooth for a lot longer than you would have were you clear headed, fascinated by the shining surface and your warped, faded reflection staring back. You can feel 2D beginning to get restless, shifting, his tongue prodding at your fingers.

“Geth y' thingers outha my mouth,” he says, struggling to talk around the intrusions in his mouth, and you giggle, withdrawing them, tracing them over his chapped lips. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, flexing his jaw, and then kisses your fingertips as they wander over his lips. You smile, leaning in and kissing him softly.

“I love your lips,” you say, and his smile grows.  
“I love your lips,” he parrots, and then leans forward, pressing them to yours, “and I love them even more when they’re pressed against mine,”

You share another deliciously slow kiss, often pausing for whole minutes, just enjoying the feeling of skin to skin contact, occasionally pulling away to take a pull on the joint, and then returning to the same position, lingering smoke being inhaled and exhaled in the shared air, passing the joint to and fro. You take a short drag and try to copy his smoke rings, failing, but making him smile proudly as the last wobbly one fades into the thick air. You lean in and kiss him again.

“I’m really hungry,” you whisper against his lips after a while, and you feel them curve up into a smile.  
“Have you got the munchies?” he asks, nimble fingers wrapping around your waist and poking the most sensitive parts of your sides, making you double over with a squeal, the joint almost slipping from your fingers.

“Stu, stop!” you gasp as he continues prodding you, “you’ll make me drop the fucking-“

You dissolve into a fit of hapless giggles, and he isn’t far behind, chuckling until he forgets the ticklish torment he had been inflicting on you, and his hands return to their place on your hips, gripping you slightly and grinding his crotch up against your own. You gasp, almost inhaling a mouthful of half exhaled smoke. You cough, eyes watering as your airways become choked, and he blinks up at you.

“Sorry,” he says once you’ve recovered, but you just smile down at him, leaning down and wrapping your free arm around his neck, pulling him up and kissing him. He tilts his head up, and then shifts, holding you tightly as he sits up a little more, alleviating his awkward positioning and allowing him to kiss you a little more hungrily. His hands wander, one curving around your waist, his flat palm pushing against the small of your back so you arch into him, the other tracing over your stomach, along your ribs and onto your breast. Not needy, grabbing, groping movements, just slow and oddly sensual, his touch focused more on the intricate lace than your assets. He fiddles with the little bow on the front as you pull away, pressing your lips against his throat and kissing downwards to the notch at the base of his jugular, that deepens slightly as he inhales. You kiss along his collar bone, making a game of it, your other hand gripping his shoulder, thumb rubbing over the rise of his other collarbone. He sighs and moans softly as you kiss and nip at his skin, occasionally biting, alternating pressure until the entire right side of his shoulder is littered with little bites and red marks. As you pull away, he barely has a chance to gaze at you before you dive under his chin again, wrapping your arms fully around his waist and resting your head against his neck, beneath his chin.

“I love you,” you mutter again his skin, barely a whisper of breath, but he hears, and shivers slightly, rolling his shoulders a little and shifting to a more comfortable position. His free hand comes up, stroking the top of your head, parting your hair from the back of your back, smoothing over your shoulder blades, trailing down your spine, coming to rest between the two dimples just above your ass. His fingertips linger there as he takes a puff of the joint, and then move on, around, stroking over your hip again.

“I love you, too,” he replies, and you grin against his skin, your head swimming with a mix of oxytocin and delicious, smoky toxins. 

You sit back, both hands on his shoulders, and grind against him again, almost as though you’re giving him a lap dance. For the first time that night, his eyes drift from your face, moving down to the flush at your throat, the marks on your collar, your lace clad breasts, your stomach, and the boxer shorts of his that you wear. Seeing you in them sparks a flicker of languorous possession in his chest. 

He reaches up and fiddles with the little bow on the front of your bra again. You let go of his shoulders and take the joint from him.

“It unclasps at the front,” you tell him, but he either doesn’t hear or doesn’t acknowledge your hint, because he just keeps fiddling with the little piece of fabric, a lazy grin on his face.

“I like it,” he says after a while, “lace…looks good on you,”

You smile and kiss him again, and then pull away to take another puff on the joint. As he reaches for it after you, the two of you stop and stare at it for a few seconds, taking a moment to compute the short, stub like smouldering joint that is pinched between your thumb and forefinger.

“Maybe we should get a new one,” he says, taking it from you and stubbing it out on the arm of the couch. A few months earlier you would have scolded him for doing such a thing, but you’d since seen this sofa go through a lot worse (at the hands of Murdoc most often, unsurprisingly). 

“Or we could just…” you trail off and roll your hips against his, wondering yourself whether you mean to be suggestive or if your brain is really beginning to submit to the heavy smog that curtains the room. 2D doesn’t quite seem to know either, but a slow grin grows on his face, and, like a gentleman, his eyes don’t leave yours as he grinds back against you.

“We’ve got the whole night."


End file.
